


Lock and Key

by WeeklyReportWithJamesCheetham



Category: 19th Century RPF - Fandom, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: BETWEEN A COMMA AND A SEMICOLON, I REALLY NEED HELP RN I ONLY KNOW HOW THEY WORK IN THEORY, WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE, lel I can’t write angst, some 12 am writing I still have for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:42:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeklyReportWithJamesCheetham/pseuds/WeeklyReportWithJamesCheetham
Summary: It had to go. All of it. He must never think about his daughter ever again, otherwise he wouldn’t want to think at all.





	Lock and Key

When the realization had hit him, he had stopped dead and slid down onto the floor. He attempted to convince himself that his conclusion was faulty, but it was to no avail.

T could not be dead. It wouldn’t make sense— She couldn’t, her ship was just late, that’s what—-

But yet again, it had been several months… No ship would logically… 

She’s only twenty-two, for Christ’s sake! She couldn’t have left him…

… But the others had… why would she have been any different?

This cursed world… The only thing it can ever do is take, doesn’t it?

… But he was an alien in society, he didn’t belong, he never had belonged, what had he had done to deserve the Giving World, anyway?

He tried to think about all the times when yes, he had helped, he had taken on cases for free, he had raised children who weren’t his own, he had given money to people who needed it more than him, he had—-

—— he had killed a man, that’s it, it doesn’t matter what he does now, because it won’t be enough, it was never enough—-

He opened his eyes and blinked. Memories began to cloud his brain: an infant was curled up in his arms, her bright eyes shining up at him in amusement; he was sitting next to her, correcting her French assignment while throwing in a few jokes here are there; he was writing to her and scolding her for not keeping up with her studies; they were playing chess, for once, and she had won; she was glowering at him, frustrated, while he attempted to explain what he had done; she was writing him letter after letter about forgiving him and the treason; “This is but poetry. Let us, therefore, drop the subject,”; “May Heaven, by other blessings, make you some amends for the noble grandson you have lost,”; Walking to port every single wretched day but yet there is nothing, nothing, to see—-

Burr let out a choked sob, before stiffening slightly. He had no right to cry. If fate had cursed him as to never allow him to be reunited with his daughter, then that was exactly what he deserved.

He closed his eyes for a few moments, remember his sweet Theo. Cherish these last few moments, a part of his mind scolded him. She isn’t yours to care for anymore.

He stood up and walked briskly to his closet. He pulled open the door and selected the largest trunk he could find. He set it on the floor and unlocked it before sighing and looking around.

It had to go. All of it. He must never think about his daughter ever again, otherwise he wouldn’t want to think at all.

He sighed. He supposed he would still have to keep in touch with Alston, but… his eyes caught on a portrait of her.

What else would he need this junk for?

He scoured the house, searching for anything he found that reminded him of Theodosia Burr Alston. One by one, they were placed carefully in the trunk. 

A watch with her face painted on it. Gone.  
The portrait. Gone.  
A stray ribbon. Gone.  
The letters… Oh, the letters! How it pained him to see them go, but they must. 

He picked them up, one by one, and gingerly placed them in the trunk. Finally, he sat back, staring at its contents. He fingered a sheaf of paper, staring at the signature, seeing but not seeing.

Lock and key.

He conjured up one last memory of his daughter’s smiling face. Squeezing his eyes tight, he banished the memory from his mind.

The lid was slammed. The key was turned. The satisfying clicking noise was made.

Burr smiled, however miserably it may have seemed, for there was nothing to be sad about. Nothing was wrong. No one ever lived here.

He dragged the trunk into his closet and kept it out of plain sight. Tightening his mental resolve, he shut the door.

All of his memories were under lock and key. Forgotten; hidden.

He straightened his cravat and looked around. Today was going to be a great day! Look! Even the weather is celebrating. 

And indeed it was, for the sun had now broken through the clouds, and was shining down on the chilly city.

He frowned slightly, as if confused for a moment. Didn’t he have a law practice to run? 

Colonel Burr quickly put on his gloves and walked out into the light.


End file.
